


It Hurts

by thisisapaige



Series: Thisisapaige's Suptober20 Collection [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AKA, Angst, Canon Divergence, Depressed Castiel (Supernatural), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, For Want of a Nail, Homelessness, Hopeful Ending, Human Castiel, M/M, One Shot, Post-Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Suptober 2020 (Supernatural), and make a better one, in this fic - Freeform, we ignore most of season 9, what if Castiel didn't call Dean Winchester at the start of Season 9?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26921605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisapaige/pseuds/thisisapaige
Summary: (For Suptober20. Day 9 Prompt: Electric)⁂”I thought-- I thought you were--” Dean swallowed. His tone took a hard edge when he said, “I prayed to you.”“I couldn’t hear you.”“You couldn’t--” Dean cut himself off, his hard edges smoothing over when he saw Castiel’s wounds, wounds that did not glow with angelic grace. “You’re human.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Thisisapaige's Suptober20 Collection [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950343
Comments: 2
Kudos: 145





	It Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning** Cas is suicidal (vaguely, of the 'I don't really care if it happens but not actively going to do anything' variety) in this fic. He going through some shit, y'all. He takes some steps to recover by the time we reach the end. :)
> 
> [My Tumbr is a very cool place. You should check it out.](https://thisisapaige.tumblr.com/)

It was like an electric shock, like touching a live wire, like a jolt down to the core. It was sudden, quick, a flash before it was over. It burned. 

Castiel had fallen.

“It hurts,” Castiel said in wonder, staring down at the very red and very human blood seeping from the cut on his palm.

At the time, Castiel did not appreciate how aptly that description would fit his new human life.

Being a human hurt. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. His muscles ached from exertion. His throat burned for want of water. It hurt. It all hurt.

What hurt most of all, however, was the guilt.

Castiel walked. He did not know what to do. He did not know where to go. He had no home. He destroyed it-- Heaven and Earth, though he was not so sure he belonged to either. At every turn, his newly fallen brothers and sisters hunted him, looking for revenge, looking to kill him for his role in the Fall. Sometimes, Castiel wondered if he should let them.

The silence overwhelmed Castiel. He could not hear prayers. He could not hear Dean, Sam, angels, or humans. He did not know what was happening out there. He did know the extent of the horror he wrought. He did not know what Metatron planned. 

Metatron tricked Castiel. It did not matter. The fault for the state of the world lay at Castiel's feet. Castiel's pride endangered humanity. Again. 

He thought about where he would go. He thought about going to the bunker. He thought about calling Dean. He did not. He did not want to tell Dean that he, once again, broke the world in his effort to save it. Castiel had not been forgiven for the last time. He knew he would not this time, either. 

Castiel wandered across America, taking up ride offers from friendly-- and sometimes not so friendly-- truck drivers and travellers. The rare times he slept, he was haunted by images of broken bodies killed by his own hand: his brothers, his sisters, Dean. He ate what scraps of food he could find from behind closed restaurants. What little money he managed to scrounge up was spent on an Enochian warding tattoo rather than food. He did not care that the parlour was small and shady. It was cheap. He found community in people like him-- homeless, forsaken, forgotten-- and learned how to survive.

He survived. He did not think that was fair. During his wandering, he found so many bodies along the road; so many were burned out husks of failed angel vessels and so many more were taken down by angel blades. The angels were at war, crying out in rage and pain at their situation, and did not care about the humans harmed in the crossfire.

After months of wandering, after months of ignoring what was around him, Castiel could not hide anymore. It was time to take responsibility for his actions. It was time, as Dean once said a long time ago, to clean up his mess. 

At least, that was what he thought at the time. Putting those thoughts into practice proved to be far, far, more difficult than Castiel thought. 

He was human. He was mortal. He bled. He forgot that.

Malachi did not need to put Castiel in handcuffs before he left the room. Theo did not need to cut into Castiel’s skin. Castiel slumped against the wall of the angel’s hideout, staring at yet another burned out husk that was both once his brethren and once a human. Two more lives lost because of him.

Theo held the point of his blade over Castiel’s heart. Castiel did not care. He did not look up. Theo wanted to know about Metatron but Castiel knew nothing.

Castiel knew nothing at all.

It was an electric shock, a current of light flowing from the core of the body, when the angel blade pierced Theo’s chest. Theo dropped to the floor, another angel and his vessel gone, and Castiel looked up.

Dean stared at him, lips slightly parted and eyes wide, lowering the blade in his hand which still dripped with Theo’s blood. Castiel stared right back. 

The silence overwhelmed Castiel.

Dean worked his jaw up and down a few times before he managed to squeak out a soft, astonished, “Cas?”

“Dean,” Castiel whispered. He could not manage more.

”I thought-- I thought you were--” Dean swallowed. His tone took a hard edge when he said, “I prayed to you.”

“I couldn’t hear you.”

“You couldn’t--” Dean cut himself off, his hard edges smoothing over when he saw Castiel’s wounds, wounds that did not glow with angelic grace. “You’re human.”

Castiel nodded. That was all it took.

Dean softened. His eyes shone. “What happened to you?” Dean did not pause for Castiel to answer before he continued, “Wait. Wait. Let’s get outta here first. Fix you up. Then we’ll talk.”

⁂

“So, it took a little threatening of a few angels here, some blackmailing of the King of Hell there, but Sam woke up. He’s not one hundred percent yet, so he and Kevin are in research mode back at the bunker.” Dean tightened the bandage on Castiel’s shoulder and taped it down. “Anyway, now we’re trying to deal with the angels. Looks like they broke up into two factions: those for Metatron and those for Malachi. They both suck, by the way.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed in the motel room, Castiel could not meet Dean's eye. “I’m sorry.”

“Dude. Why didn’t you call me or something?” Dean threw the leftover tape and bandages back into the first aid kit and carried it to the table by the window. He leaned against the table, crossed his arms, and scrutinized Castiel. Even without looking at his face, Castiel felt Dean's anger. “I didn’t know what happened to you. It’s been months since the Fall. I looked everywhere for you, Cas. I thought that--” Dean took a deep breath, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling before he returned his gaze to Castiel. “I thought you died.” 

Castiel hunched over, Dean’s words weighing him down. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “Not good enough.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“An explanation for starters!” Dean pushed off from the table, throwing his arms wide. “What happened to you? Where the Hell have you been? Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Castiel curled into himself. “I’m sorry.”

Dean let out a cry of frustration. Castiel watched Dean’s boots move across the dirty motel carpet. The mattress whined in protest when Dean dropped onto it to sit beside Castiel. 

The silence overwhelmed Castiel. 

“It’s my fault,” Castiel said to the floor. “I caused all of this. I trusted Metatron and now”-- Castiel sighed and cast his arms out, as a gesture to encompass the whole world-- “there’s this. I couldn’t even fix it when I tried.”

Castiel’s human heart hammered in the brief time between his words and Dean’s answer. Dean placed a hand on Castiel’s forearm and held it there. His touch was warm and gentle. Castiel had not any human contact-- any touch at all-- that was not deadly in a very long time. He focused on Dean’s hand. He never realized just how much he missed and needed the contact. 

“Well,” Dean said, “welcome to the family.”

“What?”

“C’mon, Cas. Being duped by a supernatural being? It’s all part of the package.”

“The package?” Castiel glanced at Dean. He was smiling. “You’re not angry?”

“Oh, buddy, I am _pissed._ ” Dean patted Castiel’s arm then pulled his hand away. “But, you’re alive and that overrides, like, everything.” Dean braced his palms behind him on the bed and leaned back. He titled his face towards Castiel, his lopsided grin watery. “I missed you, buddy.”

“I…” Castiel rubbed his arm, chasing the ghost of Dean’s touch. “I missed you, too.”

Electricity crackled in the air when Castiel met Dean’s eyes. It was like a live wire, a jolt down to the core, but it did not burn Castiel. It warmed him. Dean reached out, trailing a finger down Castiel’s jaw. Pleasant little shocks travelled across Castiel’s skin at the touch.

“We can fix this, Cas. We can do it together-- me, you, Sam, and Kev-- back at the bunker,” Dean said. “Are you ready to come home?”

Castiel nodded. That was all it took.

Castiel carried Dean’s bag to the Impala, despite Dean's protests. Dean trailed behind him, muttering about all the things he insisted he would buy for Castiel now he was human. Castiel smiled. Perhaps it would not be so bad to allow Dean to fuss over him and take care of him. Being a human taught him the importance of connection and the human bond. It was how they-- how he-- survived. 

Castiel placed the bag in the backseat of the Impala. He lingered, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and gun oil. It smelled like home. 

Castiel straightened, closed the car door, and turned around. He jumped, just stopping short of running into Dean’s chest. Dean did not speak, did not move. He stared, searching Castiel’s face. 

“Dean?” Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Is everything alright?”

Dean stepped forward, closing the scant space between them, and wrapped his arms around Castiel. “It is now.”

Castiel returned the embrace. Everything faded away: the sound of the cars passing by on the road behind them, the heat of the sun beating down on the pavement, the metal of the car pressing into Castiel’s back. There was only Dean, only the sparks on Castiel’s skin that the touch created. 

They stayed like that for a long time. Dean pulled back but did not let go of Castiel. He stayed close, so close that Castiel could feel Dean’s breath on his lips.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, running his thumb across Castiel’s bottom lip, “Cas, I…” 

Dean’s eyes flicked up to Castiel’s eyes, then his lips. Castiel tightened his grip on Dean’s waist and leaned forward. Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s, once, soft and hesitant. The sparks flared. Dean gasped and chased the touch. Dean’s kiss conveyed all his unspoken words, all his feelings, and all his relief at finding Castiel again. The connection was exhilarating.

Electric. 

Once they left the motel and were back on the highway, Dean reached across the Impala’s seat and grabbed Castiel’s hand. In the space between their bodies, Castiel and Dean laced their fingers together. They stayed like that all the way to the bunker. All the way home. 

There was much work to be done in the coming days. The angels still threatened the world. Dean still needed to deal with his anger. Castiel had to learn how to be human and how to absolve himself of his sins. Now, however, they knew they could deal with it. Together. 


End file.
